


Wildflowers

by arcadian_dream



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_dream/pseuds/arcadian_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy has a surprise in store for Gabrielle. But the afternoon holds a surprise realisation for her as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sweetcarolanne as part of hpvalensmut.

The sun beats down, bathing Pansy and Gabrielle in the first, glittering rays of the new day.

Gabrielle yawns, displeased at being roused from sleep so early. "How much further, Pansy?" she asks as they continue traipsing through the fields.

"Not far now, Gabby," Pansy says. She looks back over her shoulder as she replies and smiles at her companion. "Come on," she says and extends a hand. Gabrielle takes a few quick steps and, catching up to Pansy, slips the palm of her hand into Pansy's.

They trudge on, in silence, save for the crunching of earth underfoot and the whistle of a gentle breeze as it wends its way through and around the trees.

*

"Just up over this hill," Pansy says breathlessly before Gabrielle can ask her how much further they must walk.

The heat of the day has increased considerably since they started out and Gabrielle, hot and tired, wipes the sweat from her brow irritably. _Mon dieu,_ she thinks as she and Pansy reach the hill's crest, _what was Pansy thinking? Dragging me all the way out here when –"_

Gabrielle's thoughts, though, are interrupted as she takes in the sight laid out before her: at the base of the hill on which she and Pansy stand Gabrielle sees a vast array of baskets spread out on a plush picnic blanket, each of which contains a selection of fruits, pastries and sweets. Bordering the rug a greenhouse-full of beautiful and exotic plants are arranged, so as to give the impression of an oasis in the middle of pastoral England.

_"Mon dieu,"_ Gabrielle whispers, taken aback. She looks to the set-up before her, and back to Pansy. "Oh, Pansy!" she says happily, taking Pansy's chin in her hand and gracing her lips with a kiss.

Pansy shrugs in an exaggerated show of false modesty.

"So it's alright then?" she asks, arching a thin, dark eyebrow and smirking.

"C'est _parfait._ Come on," Gabrielle urges. With a newfound enthusiasm and a tug of Pansy's hand, still held in hers, bids her to follow.

Pansy complies, and within moments, Gabrielle reaches the floral border at a skip. "These are beautiful," she says. Releasing Pansy's hand, she takes a plush, pink wildflower between her thumb and forefinger and, plucking it from the arrangement in which it rests, lifts it to her nose.

The sweet clarity of its fragrance is intoxicating.

"Oh, Pansy," Gabrielle sighs as the wildflower's perfume tingles on her tongue.

"Here," Pansy says, leading Gabrielle through the flowers to the middle of the blanket. "Sit."

Still clutching the pink flower, Gabrielle does as she is asked. From her seated position, she gazes up at Pansy and runs her fingers along the stem of the wildflower in her hand; cool and smooth and _hers_.

"It is an awfully big blanket," Gabrielle says, gesturing to the empty space beside her and continuing to look at Pansy with wide, searching eyes.

Pansy leans down and presses a finger gently to Gabrielle's lips. "Just a moment," she says before retrieving her wand from her back pocket and taking her seat. With a flick of her wrist, Pansy summons the baskets, bountiful and bursting, towards her and Gabrielle.

*

Early morning continues to burn brightly. It shimmers and fades, easing into the drowsy contentment of the afternoon. Beneath the endless canopy of summer's bluest sky, Pansy and Gabrielle eat and drink; talk and giggle; touch and kiss. Exclamations of delight shock the surrounding silence; intimate whispers are lost among the laden boughs of trees and the sheaves of rich, green grass.

And then they are quiet. Easing back on her elbows, Gabrielle turns her face to the sky. She sighs happily, but as the moment passes she becomes aware of Pansy's energy; of the awkward silence that seems to radiate from her very being.

"What is it, Pansy?" Gabrielle asks.

"It's nothing," Pansy replies, but there is something in her voice that leaves Gabrielle unconvinced. She sits upright and places a hand on Pansy's knee; her fine fingers curve naturally against the bone, as though the pieces of each were made to fit the other.

"Pansy," Gabrielle insists.

"Well –" Pansy begins, "It's not exactly _nothing_ -"

"What is it?"

"It's just –"

"Yes?"

Gabrielle's breath catches in her throat; her mouth is dry.

"It's just – I think I might like to marry you, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle blinked hurriedly, confused. "Pansy is – is that what all of this was about?"

"No," Pansy answers with a definitive shake of her head, the dark, shining strands of her hair swinging gently from side-to-side. "No, it wasn't, Gabby. It – it _isn't_. It's just –"

Pansy pauses. She slips her hand beneath Gabrielle's and brings it to her lips.

"It's just you," she whispers. Her lips brush the back of Gabrielle's hand as she speaks.

_"Just you,"_ Pansy repeats. This time, though, her mouth is pressed flush against Gabrielle's hand; her voice is muffled and Gabrielle doesn't hear the words so much as follow the silent movement of Pansy's lips and tongue against her skin.

Gabrielle swallows; she exhales. Pansy's lips dot kisses across the back of Gabrielle's hand in a series of haphazard lines; curling invisibly, like smoke, around her, before she finally gives her full attention to the inside of Gabrielle's wrist, which she adorns with a long, slow kiss.

With a soft, satisfied sigh, Gabrielle lies back on the blanket. Pansy runs her tongue from the base of Gabrielle's hand up to her elbow in a liberal swirling motion.

"Mmm," Gabrielle moans.

"Ssh," Pansy urges her as she releases her grip on Gabrielle's wrist. Pansy repositions herself so that she is straddling Gabrielle. She gives her sides a gentle squeeze with her thighs; the pressure inflicted in such a way that Gabrielle shirks from the touch and cannot suppress a giggle.

"I'm sorry," she says, cupping Pansy's jaw, "It tickles."

Pansy says nothing: she merely smirks and inches her way along the length of Gabrielle's torso; caressing her breasts and belly through the flimsy fabric of her dress as she moves. Pansy hovers over Gabrielle's stomach and, with a deft flick, flips the skirt of her dress up. Easing back on her haunches, Pansy hooks her fingertips beneath the elastic of Gabrielle's knickers – the lace trim is coarse to the touch – and tugs them down over her thighs. Discarding Gabrielle's underpants in a tangle of silk and lace, Pansy skims the parting of Gabrielle's outer lips first with the tip of her nose – breathing her in, in, in, into the very soul of her – and then pushes forth with her tongue.

Gabrielle gasps as Pansy's tongue explores her: as it runs, long and laborious along the inside of her thighs; as she laps, teasingly, at her clitoris; her pacing intermittent, sporadic, and achingly delicious.

"Pansy," Gabrielle whimpers; she raises her hips from the ground desperately, urging Pansy to take the whole oh her inside her mouth; to nip and suck and tease her to the brink of oblivion.

Pansy acquiesces to Gabrielle's silent pleas and, thrusting her tongue against her clitoris, draws her to climax. Gabrielle exhales in a great, shuddering breath; her back arches and her toes curl and she finds her release on the crumpled folds of a picnic blanket, beneath the gentle caress of the sun's rays, at the mercy of Pansy's kiss and the devotion of her love.

*

Wrapped in one another's arms, Pansy and Gabrielle doze contentedly beneath the rich warmth of twilight. Sighing, Gabrielle runs the palm of her hand lazily over the blanket.

_"Oh!"_ she mutters as her fingers find the stem of her perfect, pink wildflower.

"You know, mon petit choux," Gabrielle says as she retrieves the flower and trails it across Pansy's bare skin, "I think – I think I might like to marry you, as well."

Gabrielle smiles, and, as Pansy lovingly returns her gaze, she can't help but think that she has stumbled upon the most beautiful, achingly intoxicating wildflower of all: cool and smooth and utterly – _utterly_ \- hers.


End file.
